


let me sooth your nightmares

by queerpyrate



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Crowley's Hiss (Good Omens), Dreams and Nightmares, M/M, Sleepy Cuddles
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-21
Updated: 2019-07-21
Packaged: 2020-07-09 20:22:40
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 672
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19893799
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/queerpyrate/pseuds/queerpyrate
Summary: "Those are quite impressive circles you have beneath your eyes, dear boy," Aziraphale tisked. "When was the last time you had a decent night's sleep?""Eleven years ago, give or take."





	let me sooth your nightmares

"Unpleasant dream?"

"Mhg." It was dismissive; a noise caught somewhere between a hum and a grunt, one that settled low in his throat. While it was hardly the response Aziraphale was searching for, at least as far as Crowley assumed, for now it was the best he could do. Yet Aziraphale seemed to pay it no mind.

"Come to think of it," Aziraphale continued thoughtfully, "I wonder if beings such as ourselves are even _supposed_ to dream."

Crowley sighed. "S'pose not." He plucked the sunglasses from where they had been riding low on his nose and let them drop to the table. He wiped a hand across his face, his ring finger rubbing at the corner of his eye. Humans would sometimes find what the slightly more clever ones referred to as Sandman's "sleep dust". He, however, found nothing.

"Though to be fair," Crowley mused, inspecting his fingertip just to err on the side of caution, " _Sleeping_ isn't exactly our modus operandi to begin with either, now is it?"

Now it was Aziraphale's turn to hum.

A cup of tea, complete with a small saucer and an even smaller spoon, appeared before him not moments later. The comforting, citrusy scent of lemon balm greeted him. Almost immediately Crowley felt more at ease. His muscles slackened, his mind clearing; the effects remaniscent of a snake coiling itself upon a sun-soaked slab. So distracted was he that he didn't notice the angel moving closer until a hooked finger lifted his chin.

"Those are quite impressive circles you have beneath your eyes, dear boy," Aziraphale tisked. "When was the last time you had a decent night's sleep?"

"Eleven years ago, give or take."

Aziraphale frowned.

"Armageddon hasss a way of keeping you up at night." Crowley didn't mean to hiss. He blamed the tea. Well-- that, and forgoing what was arguably one of his favorite human past-times for just over a decade.

"Well," Aziraphale offered after a moment. "I'm almost done with this chapter. How about you finish your tea, and I'll be up in two shakes of a lamb's tail."

"'Kay." Crowley watched Aziraphale go from over the edge of patterned china. It took the angel but a blink of an eye to vanish back into the shelves. To random passerby it might appear that his disappearance was magic. Really, he just had that many books. He took a sip of his tea.

It wasn't that Crowley _couldn't_ sleep. But when you were interrupted every few hours with nightmares, one began to give up even trying. They were always the same, really. Burning sulfur and brimstone. Blackened wings. Only they weren't always his own.

Crowley finished his tea and returned the cup and saucer to their rightful place, nice and clean, with a snap of his fingers. When he got back upstairs Aziraphale was already there waiting for him, complete with a matching tartan pajama set that made him suppress a smile every time. Two shakes of a lamb's tail, indeed.

Crowley didn't question it. Rather he just kicked off his shoes and peeled off the trousers and shirt that fit him like a second skin. He didn't own any pajamas, instead opting for the usual black tank and boxer briefs that he was already wearing. Oh, and his black socks. Apparently, humans thought them to be the stuff of nightmares. Particularly the women.

Humans are weird.

When Crowley finally got himself situated beneath the sheets --which were a combo of white and beige, naturally-- those arms encircled him in familiar embrace. Warm, comforting. Soft. It was nearly perfect. Crowley shifted, turning so that he could bury his face into the crook of Aziraphale's neck. Safely tucked right under the angel's chin, Crowley was now content.

"There," he mumbled. Aziraphale hummed. Though he didn't mention it, and though he couldn't sense it himself --for demons never could--, Crowley was certain the other could feel the flashes of love in this moment.

Crowley didn't sleep that night. Then again, he didn't have any nightmares either.


End file.
